


This Book Will Change Your Life

by Peapods



Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, they're going to write a book about their exploits. It will be awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Book Will Change Your Life

"Hold on, hold on, I gotta pee," Rachel said drunkenly as she stumbled down the path.

"Fuck, me too," Keith said, following her crooked trail.

"I'm gonna go pee on this tree here and let it roll down the hill."

"Meanwhile showing off your pale ass to the police boats," he said, unzipping and aiming at his own tree. He watched as Rachel giggled and propped herself against a tree that really shouldn't have been able to hold her, pants around her knees.

"Good God, Keith we drank the _entire_ bottle," she announced, looking at the bottle at her feet. The bottle of SoCo Citrus _was_ utterly demolished and the taste in his mouth was disgusting. But no one could deny it had gotten them drunk. Their weaving walk back to the campus apartments made that utterly clear.

"Do you know, we should write a book," Rachel announced. "And damnit, I should just carry around toilet paper I end up popping so many squats."

"Maybe you should see a doctor about this incontinence thing you've got going on," Keith said. "And why should we write a book? What the hell would we even write about?"

"How awesome we are, duh," she said, looking at him like he was stupid. "Don't you know how awesome we are?"

They had been friends for years, since elementary school when Rachel had punched a girl in the face after she'd called Keith ugly. And Rachel had had a crush on that girl, too. They had been with each other all through their sexual discoveries, including the one where Rachel decided she only liked women and the one where Keith decided he didn't entirely dislike men. How they had both ended up at the same tiny college was beyond them.

"And Anderson can be in it with all those stories about the parking garage, and Dan too, and we can talk about how much they _fucking_ hate each other and then Erica putting her foot in that planter and Anderson laughed until he was sick and he wasn't even _stoned_ yet, or the time my head disappeared!"

"When did your head--oh yeah, pot brownies."

"Yes, yes, yes and then we'll write about your big mancrush on Anderson," Rachel announced and Keith, drunk and not entirely in control of himself, tripped over his own feet.

"I _do not_," he protested.

"You totally do, sweets. Good thing he's absolutely smitten with you, yeah?"

Keith ignored her. She occasionally went on these flights of fancy. That she was usually correct meant very little to him. Especially in this case.

"When will we write this book?"

"When we're older and much more awesome," she answered immediately. "And we can write a play and we can do movies. It's gonna be awesome."

"Know any word besides awesome tonight, Rach?"

"Shut your mouth, Olbermann or I'll leave you here."

"You've suddenly learned how to drive a stick shift?" he asked.

"Sticks and what they come attached to are fairly uncomplicated, I'm sure I could figure it out," she said throwing him a wicked look. He couldn't help but laugh though, because Rachel Maddow making a dick joke was a rare and precious thing.

"Come on, Olbermann! We promised the princess his ice cream!"

*****

The "princess" was currently miserable on their couch, watching "Object of My Affection" for the nine-hundredth time. He loved Paul Rudd. Or more specifically, he loved Paul Rudd's butt. So bubbly. He swallowed with a wince and took a sip of his tea. He had called Rachel and Keith just over an hour ago asking for ice cream, but the two had already been well on their way to plastered.

One generally couldn't ask for two better friends than Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow. In his first semester at school he'd almost had a complete nervous breakdown. He was gay, but hadn't told anyone and was struggling to adjust to campus life. He had ended up, almost by accident--he had been looking for the A/V club--in the LGBT club's meeting. Those two had taken his shy rebuttals and shaking hands and mowed over them. They had sat him down between them and hadn't let him leave until the end. And then they had taken him back to Keith's dorm and gotten him drunk. The three had been a close-knit group ever since.

But Anderson Cooper's place in this group could be threatened by his feelings for Keith. He knew Keith was at least bi, had been told so by the man himself, but that didn't mean he had any particular affinity for Anderson. He knew better than to pine, had pined after straight guys too many times in high school.

The front door to their apartment came flying open as previously mentioned drunks came stumbling in. He heard the rustle of a plastic bag and hope filled him. When Rachel and Keith came into view he smiled a little and held out his hands.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No problemo, mi amigo," Rachel said before, apparently, cracking herself up. "We got you vanilla fudge swirl and mint with chocolate swirls."

"Thanks," he whispered again.

"How's the throat?" Keith asked, plopping down next to him. He reeked of sweet alcohol, Anderson curled his nose a little. He wasn't the big drinker they were. He liked his drinks simple or out of boxes, like the box of Franzia in the fridge. Rachel, who often went crazy with their collection of liquor, hated this about him as her concoctions were wasted on his uncultured palate.

"Raw," he whispered. "I'm hoping I can keep this down," he elaborated, thinking of the ramen noodles he'd tried to eat earlier which had made a painful reappearance only a little while later.

"Tonsils suck," Keith decided and Anderson laughed a little.

"That they do, whether in or out," he answered. Keith didn't respond with much but a small chuckle and scooted Anderson's blanket-wrapped form closer to him. Anderson took a deep breath as Keith's warmth assaulted him. When Keith's arm went behind his head onto the back of the sofa, Anderson knew the torture had begun.

Keith was... quite affectionate when he'd had a few. Anderson could blame that physical closeness for part of his current problem, but knew it wouldn't be entirely fair. Keith's personality had a great deal to do with Anderson's current emotional predicament.

Over the next few minutes the arm on the sofa began to fall downwards, landing with a soft thump on Anderson's shoulders. From there it began to pull and Anderson sighed as he was pulled to Keith's chest. The latter being propped in the corner of the couch, Anderson hoisted his legs up onto the couch and lay back on that chest. Keith's arm fell down Anderson's chest and his hand curled casually near his other side. Anderson took another deep breath to make himself relax.

When Rachel reentered from the kitchen where she had been making drinks for her and Keith and retrieving a spoon for Anderson, she gave Anderson a soft smile that made his stomach flip. Rachel, he was sure, knew about his crush. She was always sending him looks like these when she found them in similar positions. Anderson blushed under the smile and thanked her for the spoon. He opened up the vanilla fudge swirl and began peeling long, thin strips of ice cream off with his spoon.

"Don't know how you can eat it like that," Keith's voice rumbled beneath him.

"Your way of spooning out huge chunks is better?" Rachel asked, taking a sip of something that was undoubtedly strong and classic. He heard ice cubes clink behind him.

"Mmm, the Jack Rose?" Keith asked, a nod from Rachel and he and he said, "good choice. As for my ice-cream eating... well I really don't have a rebuttal for that. I just like to eat it that way."

"Why are we watching Paul Rudd _again_?" Rachel asked. Anderson shrugged and smiled.

"It was in the player," he whispered.

"Well, screw this, let's watch something else," she said going to the TV and DVD player.

A minute later the FBI warning came up and then the menu for _Casino Royale_ swallowed the screen.

"Jeez, Rach, again? You don't even like dick!" Keith said, making Anderson laugh.

"Yeah, but you two do, and Eva Green's got enough cleavage and nudity for me to be perfectly satisfied. Besides, I like spy movies."

Anderson relaxed into his ice-cream and lounging and before Bond had even got on the train to Montenegro, he fell asleep in Keith's arms.

*****

Monday morning and Keith was cursing Global Media to the depths of Hell. He was a senior, for cryin' out loud, why the hell was he taking an 8:30 class? The short answer was it was required. The long answer, well, there really wasn't a long answer was there? He needed the class and the teacher was a Nazi who took roll every morning and docked points for absences. Neither Rachel, Anderson, or their generally flaky, absent roommate Chris had been stupid enough to schedule classes so early.

Head propped on his hand, attempting to look like he was paying attention to "Alo Presidente!", he thought about what Rachel had said the night before. He had to admit there was some truth to her statement about his "mancrush" on Anderson. He remembered the first time they'd met, he and Rachel had gotten him drunk that evening and the other boy had broken down in tears after about the... eleventh drink and had told them that he really didn't know how he was going to survive and that he was gay and it was eating him up inside feeling that he couldn't tell anyone.

They had taken him under their wing then, given him support, friends, and occasionally a drunken night for him to spill all his secrets to them. It had forged a deep friendship between all three and Keith would have to admit that his interest in Anderson was never entirely platonic. There was always the potential, the idea of them, but why would he screw up a great friendship on an _idea_?

Two and half hours later, he emerged into the blinding sunshine and rolled his neck.

"Wow, that was boring," said the short guy beside him as he exited.

"I don't think boring quite covers it," Keith told him.

"You're right, boring falls short," the other guy said. He offered his hand, "Jon Leibowitz."

"Keith Olbermann," he returned, shaking the hand.

"I think I've seen you at the College Democrats meetings," Jon said.

"Yeah, my roommates and I go occasionally. Usually they're right in the middle of our work or school schedules so we don't get to come often."

"Oh, the uh, tall girl with glasses and the graying guy?"

"Yeah, Rachel and Anderson. Anderson's not really political, but since he's in PoliSci--"

"Wait, he's not political, but he's majoring in Political Science?" Jon asked skeptically.

"Andy's more interested in global politics and diplomacy. As he likes to say, people shouting their opinions at him doesn't really do anything for him. He's interested in the actual science, which just eludes me."

"Huh," Jon said before shrugging like a man who was accepting something he didn't really get. "To each his own, I guess. You got class after this?"

"No, thank God, I only have this monster on Mondays," Keith told him as they began walking.

"I'm fucking starving, you?"

"Sure, wanna come back to the apartment? I think I have stuff."

"Cool, man! Glad I decided to stop and talk to you, I was headed for Cafeteria surprise."

"Mondays suck at the Cafe."

"Fucking tell me about it."

*****

Rachel was startled from her deep, drunken sleep by noise in the kitchen. Which was strange because they generally liked to avoid the cooking of food. She emerged from her blanket cocoon and pulled on her sweats. Outside, the sun was too bright, obviously a morning sun, and she silently cursed whoever was in the kitchen.

She shuffled in and glared at Keith and the small child he had drug in. Further visual examination showed that it was not, in fact, a child, but a short college student. Probably soccer player given his shoes. She grunted in their direction and pulled open the fridge. With a sigh she pulled out the microwaveable bacon and eggs.

"Good morning, sunshine," Keith said and she put down the bacon long enough to flick him off. As she made her food she listened to them chatter about politics and their Global Media class which was apparently where Keith had picked him up. She wanted to add things, but the hole in her stomach protested and she just waited for her toast to pop and eggs to cook.

"Good morning," came a whisper from the door, and Rachel turned to smile at the eminently pathetic, but cute Anderson who had shuffled in in his own pajamas.

"Morning," she managed as both Keith and the boy greeted him slightly more enthusiastically. Jon was given an introduction and suddenly Rachel remembered him from the College Democrats meetings. Funny guy, cracking jokes and doing the most hilarious Bush impression she'd ever seen.

"What's up with the whispering?" he asked Anderson.

"Tonsils out," Anderson answered. "Is there hot water?"

"No, but I can make some," Rachel answered. She filled their tea kettle with water and put it on the back burner, transferring her eggs to a plate with the bacon and toast.

"Thanks," he said, sitting at the table with Keith and Jon.

"You still feel like ass?" Keith asked prompting Rachel to roll her eyes.

"Pretty crappy, yeah," Anderson said. "On the plus side, I didn't throw up the ice-cream."

"Progress!" Keith said with surprise.

"That it is."

"Have you got classes today?" Rachel asked, sitting herself. She put a coffee cup with a bag in it down in front of Anderson before digging into her food.

"Logic at two and Formation of Modern Africa after that," he said, with a soft groan. "I don't want to even contemplate walking to campus."

"So don't," Keith said logically. "You have a legitimate excuse _not_ to go to class."

"I like class."

"And that, my friend, is one thing many will never understand about you." Anderson grinned at that, getting up as the kettle whistled.

"If I'm going to make up for last year, I really need to buckle down," Anderson said and both Keith and Rachel sobered a little. Last year had been awful for all of them, if only because Anderson had simply drifted through, not caring about anything, not really aware of what happened around him. It made Rachel want to reach in to the ether for Carter Cooper, shake him, and yell "look what you did to him!" Of course, she never said as much to Anderson.

"Your GPA didn't suffer that much, Anderson," Keith reasoned. "And you had all those summer sessions so you're still on track even having missed the first semester." All of this was true, but to workaholic Anderson it probably wouldn't mean much.

"In any case, I need to get notes and things," Anderson said.

"Let me drive you, then," Keith said. "I can drop you off and go do some errands." Anderson looked at Keith and then smiled, taking a sip of his hot tea.

"Thanks, that would be good."

"Would you mind dropping me too?" Jon asked. "I got American Foreign Policy at two, as well."

"Yeah, sure," Keith answered. "But first, where the fuck are the Pop-Tarts?"

*****

Three weeks later Anderson finally felt normal. He could eat everything, even the dry, flat, pretzel crisps Rachel kept buying. He had caught up with all his work just in time for midterms.

"Hey! Anderson!" an vaguely familiar voice called across the quad. He turned, raising his hand to cover his eyes in the bright sunshine. A shorter guy, with floppy dark hair ran up, a small grin on his face.

"Jon Leibowitz," he said with a wave.

"Oh yeah!" Anderson said with an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry, that whole time period was kind of dwarfed by the unpleasantness."

"Yeah, I get that. Anyway, I been hanging out with Keith a little," Anderson felt a thrill of jealousy. "And uh, well he said you were taking Anthropology of the Middle East?"

"Um, yeah," Anderson said, a little confused.

"I'm thinking about taking it next semester, is it any good?" Puzzlingly, Jon looked a little uncomfortable and embarrassed, which only put Anderson on his guard.

"Well, the professor is really cool, Deblassi, but the class is pretty hard," Anderson said. "A lot of papers."

"Writing, ugh," Jon said lamely, giggling, a little adorably. It made Anderson smile. "Anyway, I uh, well, you doing anything for lunch?"

"I mean, I was about to go home..." Anderson mentioned, not knowing how to answer.

"Oh, uh, well... how about tomorrow?" Jon asked, rubbing the back of his neck. And Anderson suddenly realized that Jon was asking him out. His face must have flamed red at the realization because Jon started to babble. "I mean, you don't have to, I just-uh, don't really have anyone to eat with and despite the whispered conversation you seemed pretty cool and--"

"Sure," Anderson said suddenly. "Um, do you like sushi?"

"Uh..." Jon said, looking like he was trying to find a way to say yes and mean it. It made Anderson giggle.

"They do have other stuff, you know. Not slimy, not raw, stuff." Jon giggled and nodded.

"All right then, sounds good."

"Okay, there's this place up on Bardstown. It's Vietnamese and Japanese."

"Interesting combination," Jon commented.

"Sure, but it's all really good," Anderson assured him. "I spent a summer in Hanoi in high school, they do a pretty accurate facsimile of the real stuff."

"Okay, yeah," Jon said, sounding more enthusiastic. "I'll meet you here? Around noon?"

"I don't have class until 2, so that sounds good," Anderson said with a nod. As he started to walk towards home he heard Jon call out, causing him to turn back.

"You spent a summer in Hanoi?!" Anderson laughed and waved at him, continuing on his way.

*****

"He asked you out?" Rachel asked as they made dinner that night.

"No, he didn't _ask me out_," Anderson replied, running through his pile of onions with a quick knife. "He asked if I wanted to get lunch."

"And yet he babbled when it looked like you were going to say no," Rachel pointed out.

"Well.... yes, he did. But maybe he's shy?" Anderson said, sounding like he didn't entirely believe his own excuse.

"He was asking you out," Rachel told him. "And I think it's good you accepted." Rachel was sure when Keith learned that the guy he'd brought home on a whim a few weeks before had asked out the object of his affection he'd be... displeased. She couldn't wait to see his reaction.

"Who was asking who out?" Keith asked as he huffed in the back door. Their apartment was on the third floor, a source on constant irritation for her and Keith, and the back steps were notoriously steep, with giant holes in pretty important places. He threw down his bag in the nearest chair and got a beer out of the fridge.

"Jon asked Anderson out," Rachel announced.

"He did not _ask me out_," Anderson reiterated.

"He did, Andy, give it up," Rachel said, carefully watching Keith, who had paused in the middle of a sip at the pronouncement before taking a longer than usual pull on the bottle.

"Oh really?" Keith asked. "What'd you say?" Rachel had to contain a snort of amusement. Yeah, he had _no_ feelings for Anderson, none whatsoever.

"Look, it's not a date. He was looking for someone to have lunch with today and I was going home so he asked if we could hook up tomorrow."

"'Hook up'?"

"I mean, we just, like, made a rain-check. It's not big deal," he said exasperatedly. "And it's _not_ a date," he told Rachel pointedly.

"Fine," Rachel said loftily. "Not a date. Got it." She paused as Anderson's onions to the pot. "But when he kisses you tomorrow, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so.'"

"Rachel!"

"Think we could change the subject?" Keith asked, opening beers to replace Anderson's and Rachel's empties.

"To what?" Rachel asked.

"Well, we could talk about the stoned conversation we had last night," Anderson said with a devious look. Rachel exchanged a look with him and let a broad smile take over her face.

"Oh yes, let's," she said. "Keith, do you happen to remember a certain promise you made last night?"

Keith looked wary, eyes darting around as he tried to recall anything from the night before. It _had_ been an epic night, but Keith had indulged even more than she and Anderson.

"Uh," was his intelligent reply.

"Well, let us enlighten you," Anderson said. "We happen to be talking nostalgically about our childhoods, particularly activities we used to engage in."

"And Anderson and I both admitted that a huge part of _our_ childhood was skating. Rollerskating, to be exact," Rachel continued.

"Oh, God," Keith said.

"Yes, Keith, you happened to mention to us that you had never actually _been_ rollerskating and when we teased you about it you then accepted the challenge of learning how," Anderson said.

"So, we were thinking, 'why _don't_ we take Keith skating?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Yes," they chorused.

"Damnit."

*****

"We couldn't believe he'd never been rollerskating! I mean, wasn't it a requirement for each child to have at least one party at the roller rink in the 1990s?" Anderson asked Jon. Jon was still laughing over the pot stories Anderson had told.

"I mean, not where _I_ came from, but then we got our kicks out of kicking a can up and down the street. That or hitting mailboxes with rotten fruit," Jon told him. Anderson giggled around his mouthful of sushi. "So, you all decided to take him rollerskating?"

"Yeah," Anderson said with a small laugh and shake of his head, thinking of gigantic Keith up on rollerskates. He glanced at Jon and smiled. Well, he _was_ having a really good time. He hadn't dated much at all since he'd acknowledged his sexuality. A handjob that had cemented it for him, a date his mother had set him up on, much to his everlasting shame, but nothing on his own. Nothing so promising. He put all thoughts of Keith away. "You, um, wanna come?"

Jon looked up, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Uh, sure! Sounds fun. I'll be sure to bring lots of butt-padding anyway."

"Great! Um, we can pick you up? Keith's driving, of course, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Jon rattled off his dorm and phone number. As they left the restaurant, Jon took his hand. Anderson turned, heart beating fast and cheeks heating up.

"I had a good time," Jon told him. Anderson ducked his head with a smile.

"I did too," he said. "I'll see you Saturday?"

"Yeah, bye Anderson."

He could barely recall the walk back to the apartment he was so lost in his thoughts. He had pined after Keith, had taken every grain of affection as a sign that it might not all be in vain. Keith had dated, men and women, in the time that Anderson had known him, but nothing had ever been serious. The longest anyone had lasted was three months before Keith hanging out with Anderson and Rachel so much had become an issue. So, Keith preferred his company, along with Rachel's, but that didn't mean it went beyond that. It didn't mean that Anderson could just sit around waiting for Keith to notice him.

And then there was Jon.

Jon was sweet and very funny and was obviously interested, had made no secret of his interest, in fact. He didn't fit Anderson's usual physical attraction, but that meant very little at this point. He liked Anderson.

And that felt really, really good.

*****

"Oh _Anderson_," Rachel said with exasperation when she learned that he had invited Jon to the "skating party."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "I know you think Keith is all hung up on me, Rach, but quite frankly I don't see it and while I would love to sit around pining, _waiting_ for him to catch a clue, I _can't_. Jon likes me, and I like him, so yes, I invited him."

"And this is in no way a ploy to make Keith notice you?" Rachel asked. Anderson stared at her witheringly.

"I do not stoop to those depths, Rachel. If having me around for three years as a roommate didn't do it, then what makes you think on afternoon in skating rink will?"

*****

Keith fumed. Was fuming. He was so angry he could spit nails. Jon Leibowitz was very, very lucky they didn't have class together until Monday or he'd be sporting a funny walk for their outing on Saturday. Perhaps so much so that he wouldn't be able to make it.

Why had Anderson invited him? Was it just the attempt to include more people in their group of friends? Anderson had been tight-lipped, as usual, about his lunch with the other guy so Keith had no frame of reference. He was unsure whether to go into "HULK SMASH" mode, or simply bide his time until Saturday. The former option was very appealing, however.

Seriously, he did not begrudge Anderson going on a date. He really didn't. The guy had had maybe one date the entire time Keith had known him and that had been a disastrous set-up that ended with them on the train-tracks with a fifth of whiskey and a dime-bag. Keith could have told Mrs. Vanderbilt that Shepard Smith was the one of the last people on Earth (the last was Bill O'Reilly, that PRICK who was now, inexplicably, president of the SGA _and_ the Baptist Student Union) that Anderson would even consider dating. For cryin' out loud the guy wore eyeliner! Anderson was gay, sure, but that didn't mean he wanted a man in make-up. He wanted a _man_. Or so he'd confessed in a rambling rant that had gone everywhere from porn to neo-Naziism to the export price of pistachios from Iran.

So, yes, Anderson dating was fine. But Keith had gotten to know Jon. Jon was funny, kind, and smart. He liked the same things he, Rach, and Anderson did. He had a giggle that even _Keith_ found endearing--though not nearly as much as Anderson's. He was, in other words, a Good Guy. Someone who actually had the potential to go past one date. Something he'd already accomplished. Who knew how many more dates were in the future. And sexually? Keith couldn't even think about it without the desire to kick the newspaper dispenser next to him.

"Keith, why are you eyeing that dispenser as though it means you harm?" Speak of the devil. Keith turned to see Anderson sort of grinning at him.

"I was contemplating kicking it," Keith told him truthfully.

"Any... particular reason why?" Anderson asked as though he didn't really want to know.

"It was looking shifty."

Anderson giggled and shifted his messenger back over to the other shoulder. "Your ability to take offense with inanimate objects will never cease to amaze me."

"You done with classes?" Keith asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I'm skipping Politics of Oil. I've no desire to listen to Bill O'Reilly talk about the greatness of the U.S. again," he said with a roll of his eyes. Keith went stormy at the mention.

"I still say that election was fixed," he grumbled as they started up the back steps.

"I agree, but we didn't vote so..."

"I just figured those who _did_ care would elect the usual ineffectual, do-good, fraternity no-neck. Who knew that the anti-Christ was campaigning?"

Anderson laughed, "we would have, had we been paying attention." He unlocked the back door and flicked on the kitchen light. They set their things down, immediately reaching for beer.

"It's your turn to buy," Anderson told him as they surveyed the three 312s left in the refrigerator.

"Yeah, I know. I think Goose Island has an oatmeal stout out," Keith commented. "I figure two of those and a 12 pack will last us the week." He did not exaggerate. They went through a lot of beer. In the morning they drank juice, in the afternoon they had cokes or water, at night they had beer. It was a system. And thankfully Chris, their frequently absent and absentminded roommate, didn't much care for beer.

"Sounds good," Anderson said. They sat at the kitchen table and sipped their beers, turning on the stereo for some background noise. Anderson grinned at Keith, "looking forward to skating tomorrow?"

Which just brought back the foul mood the appearance of Anderson had dissipated.

"Oh joy, skating, I just can't wait," he said flatly, making Anderson laugh.

"It's really not that bad, Keith," he said. "They'll play old songs from the seventies and eighties and nineties and there'll be black lights and screaming children. You should feel right at home." He patted Keith on the arm patronizingly, earning a glare which only made him laugh.

He watched Anderson leave the room to use the bathroom and came to a decision. He was Keith _fucking_ Olbermann and he wasn't going to let Anderson get away. He wasn't going to let this be like the SGA elections. He was going to act to get what he wanted.

And if that meant getting his tall ass up on skates, by God he would do it.

*****

Rachel could tell that Keith was fighting a losing battle. He was trying his damndest to hate Jon. From the set of his jaw, to a few pointed remarks she could tell that he didn't want to like him. He didn't want to like the person who might be taking Anderson away from him. Rachel wanted to point out that Anderson wasn't _his_ or Jon's, but she figured that would go in one ear and out the other.

Jon had taken everything Keith had said in stride and either gave it right back or diffused it with a joke that made everyone laugh. The only coup that Rachel had managed--because _obviously_ she was rooting for Keith, no matter how nice Jon was--was to claim the backseat. Anderson had looked at her a little funny for that since she usually was always up front--best friend privilege.

At the rink they laughed at the look on the cashier's face as they asked for their skates. Rachel stayed behind and asked if there was anyway to change the music from the contemporary rap and hip-hop to more retro songs. The kid looked skeptical, but agreed to put on some of the older discs for them, seeing how they were the only customers there so far.

The boys were ready and after waiting for her to get her own skates on, they walked, awkwardly, to the darkened rink. Each of them cheered as the black lights and twirling colorful lights came on. They stepped out onto the floor as the familiar music of "Dancing Queen" came on.

"All right, Keith, grab Anderson's hand," Rachel directed, daring anyone to disagree with her. She could see Anderson blush even in the dark. "I'll get Jon," she said.

"I know how to roller-skate," Jon protested, taking a tentative roll, "I think."

"Well, I'll stick by you anyways," Rachel said, watching Anderson giggle and Keith scowl as the former tried to get the latter going. Anderson was showing off, skating backwards, both of his hands grasping Keith's. The song was over in the time it took them to get from one side of the rink from the other and finally Keith was going faster than a snail's pace.

"Thanks for letting me come with you all," Jon said as "Take on Me" came on.

"Hey, you're pretty awesome. We were only going to exclude you if you turned out to be a douchebag," she told him honestly.

"I, uh, get the feeling Keith isn't so pleased," Jon said, and she sneaked a look at him, pursing her lips.

"He's just a big grump. He thought only the two of us would be witnessing his humiliation," Rachel said, and at least that was partially true as she watched Keith fall on his ass, taking Anderson with him with his greater mass. Anderson was laughing delightedly and Keith was looking displeased. Keith regained his feet first and helped Anderson up, the latter smiling largely.

A glance over at Jon saw his wistful look.

"I never had a chance, did I?" he asked as "Footloose" started and Keith and Anderson began skating faster. She and Jon kept at their pace. She wanted to lie. She wanted to let Anderson have this. He needed the ego boost, maybe even the experience. But, and this was something she almost couldn't forgive herself for, her loyalty, first and foremost, lay with Keith. It had been so for years. And when she knew that Anderson would be happiest with her best friend it was easy to make the decision, to choose sides.

"To be fair, you were the _only_ one who had a chance outside of Keith," Rachel told him. "Anderson hasn't had a whole lot of experience. I think he genuinely likes you, he could even grow to care for you. But frankly, Jon, it wouldn't have been enough."

Jon was chuckling a little. "Well, while I wasn't planning on marrying the guy, it's nice to know anyways." Rachel laughed as well. They were in college, true, and some people--dumb people--thought that that meant they were mature and marriage-ready. But everyone she knew was daunted by the prospect, unable to imagine that level of commitment at their age. A few people, her eyes flickered to Keith and Anderson, skating and dancing wildly to the music, would probably make it there, but for the rest of them it was far out of reach.

"That's a very good point," she conceded. "But, well, I guess I'm pretty protective of both of them. I count them both as my best friends and after last year I just need Anderson to be truly happy, not fooling himself through stand-ins and vicariousness."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked. Rachel was glad for the dark, the music, and the movement of their skates. It was hard to explain Anderson, it was hard to understand him, even when you'd been living with him for two years.

"His brother committed suicide last year," Jon looked appropriately horrified, concerned eyes glued to the laughing Anderson who was trying to teach Keith to bounce his shoulders to TLC. "And his father died when he was ten. He kind of... doesn't know how to deal with his emotions. He reads books about genocide and wars trying to figure out how to deal with loss. It's not really working."

"But you think being with Keith, that will really help?" Jon looked appropriately skeptical.

"If he can think about something else, if he can have someone there who can listen and frankly _force_ him to deal with it, I think it would do him a lot of good. Keith does not like bullshit. He's let Anderson get away with it for now only because he's not sure that it's his place to say anything."

"Very Machiavellian of you," Jon observed.

"It helps that they're crazy about each other," Rachel said as the couple passed them again.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Jon finally asked. Rachel didn't really have an answer for him though. She shrugged and sped up her skating, waiting for Jon to do so as well.

"I like you. You're a good guy. If Keith weren't around I'd be telling you this so you'd know what to do later on. As it is, I think you could be a friend. Anderson is social, but he kind of lives in a bubble of good friends that he clings to."

"Sounds good to me," Jon said, not looking particularly heartbroken. "The guy is gorgeous, but hell it was only one date. This could easily have been just friendship even if you hadn't warned me off," he said, laughing when her face heated up. "No, really, thanks for letting me in on the secret. I make an ass of myself enough as it is."

"I Heard it Through the Grapevine" came on and they both started laughing. They dropped their conversation and joined Keith and Anderson in actually skating. Anderson didn't seem too terribly put-out that, from then on, Jon spent more time with Rachel than him.

They spent the afternoon eating nachos and ice-cream--which had prompted protests from Anderson, quickly silenced with a baby aspirin and a beta blocker--and choreographing dances to the Jackson Five and Ace of Base. Keith protested loudly to this part, but upon seeing how much fun the other three were having, was forced to join in. Jon made himself scarce from Anderson's presence, prompting hurt and confused looks from the latter, but smug grins from Keith. Keith, in turn, began distracting Anderson from this slight.

She may not be able to manage her own affairs, but by God, Rachel surely could manage those of others.

*****

"I don't understand," Anderson said softly after they dropped Jon off. He had sent a vague "see you all later" with very little acknowledgment to Anderson. "I thought he liked me."

"Well, maybe he just decided he wants to be your friend," Keith said diplomatically. Anderson didn't know what to think. In a move that was supposed to throw him and Jon in to familiar company so that Anderson could interact without nervousness he had ended up spending most of the day with Keith. Not that he minded, of course.

"Yeah, Anderson, I mean, do you even know if he's gay?" Rachel asked.

"No, I guess I don't. He never came out and said, but he held my hand and--"

"Maybe he was just trying it out," Rachel postulated. "He seemed to have a good time with me."

"Yeah," Anderson said, only a little disappointed. "He'll make a good friend, anyway," he said, trying to find the bright side. And Anderson was sure he would be. Jon was funny and fit into the group fairly well. Anderson would just call this "the date that never was."

*****

The next week was fall break and Keith and Anderson were left to their own devices as Rachel sprung an unplanned trip into the woods with her current girlfriend.

"Do you want to play some frisbee?"

"Ground's too wet."

"Do you want to go see a movie?"

"What movie?"

"Hmmm, 'Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist' or 'Flash of Genius'?"

"Nah, not in the mood."

"Well, you wanna get beer and wings at Cumberland?"

"Not really feeling the whole micro-brew thing tonight."

"Well, Keith, what _do_ you want to do?"

"Why can't we just stay in tonight?"

Anderson looked at him surprised. Keith was usually the one always hankering to get out, even as little as going for a drive, music pumped and windows down. Anderson was more likely to be a homebody.

"Oh, yeah sure," Anderson said. "You want to make some dinner?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd cook my five alarm chili," Keith said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Okay," Anderson said with a giggle. Keith's five alarm chili was as mild as pussycat. It rarely, if ever, gave Anderson heartburn--something he was prone to with hot and spicy foods--and generally tasted better the next day. But it was still very good.

While Keith cooked, Anderson set up the living room for their night in. Chips, a cooler of beers, crackers, laptops and a selection of TV shows and movies were all lined up on the coffee table for easy access from the couch. He quickly optimized the system for surround sound and switched the mode to DVD.

Cracking open two beers, he returned to the kitchen. "Everything's ready to go," he told Keith, handing him one of the beers. Keith thanked him and drank a little before pouring the rest of the bottle into the chili pot. "Anything you need me to do?"

"Boil the spaghetti?" Keith asked. That was another thing about Keith's chili: he put spaghetti in it. Anderson thought it was the strangest thing he'd ever seen before he tasted it. Now, it was practically the only way he'd eat his chili. He put a pot on to boil and began breaking up the spaghetti into more manageable lengths.

As he reached for the salt his hand brushed Keith's. Keith didn't pull away, barely flinched, he only turned to smile at Anderson. It made Anderson's heart swell. When he wanted it to be, Keith's smile was one of the most gentle in the world. Anderson returned it and retrieved the salt while Keith grabbed the chili powder.

They didn't speak as they cooked, only passed Anderson's beer back and forth, tasting each others lips on the rim. Anderson slyly ran his tongue along the edge. It was intimate. It was nice. Most of their interactions were based solely on what they said. They had a very particular way of speaking to one another and very rarely could silence be found between the two of them. Anderson liked that they could be silent.

An hour later they were parked on the couch, close, but not too close, and were laughing their way through a movie. Every time Keith laughed, a deep, joyful thing, that could have sounded like Santa Claus if he really tried, Anderson scooted closer to him. Keith laughed with his whole body and he shook Anderson's slighter form with his amusement.

By the end of the movie they had taken up their usual arrangement. Keith tucked into the corner of the couch with Anderson reclining on him. This was a kind of casual intimacy that he was fairly certain _didn't_ happen in most male friendships.

Anderson was very glad their friendship wasn't like "most."

*****

"It has come to my attention that I am something of a coward," Keith told him conversationally, chest sending vibrations into Anderson's body. Anderson turned a puzzled look his way, waiting for him to go on. "I-I let a situation go on for too long before I rounded up the balls to say something about it."

"_You_ were afraid to say something?" Anderson teased. "This I must I hear about."

"Well, this was something special," Keith said defensively. "I didn't want to mess it up. Because saying it might ruin things forever."

Anderson pushed himself off Keith to turn and stare at him, concerned. "You're my best friend, Keith," he said. "You can tell me anything." But those words didn't make Keith feel any better.

"The thing is, Anderson, I don't view you as my friend," he said. Anderson recoiled, mouth opening in horror. "No! Damnit, I'm getting all--I don't view as _just_ my friend," he corrected.

Anderson looked slightly mollified, but perhaps more confused. Keith sat up, pulling his leg from around Anderson's body to set it on the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

"It's completely unfair, Anderson. You keep walking around being all bitchy and sweet and then you say something utterly insane about bagels and it just makes me _crazy_! And you have no idea!"

"I have no idea about what?" Anderson asked quietly.

Keith looked straight at him. "I want you, Anderson. I want to be able to hold you tight, instead of just letting you recline. I want to be able to kiss you when you say something utterly ridiculous like how much you wish the world smelled like honeydew. I want people to know unequivocally that you are mine."

Anderson looked more and more shell-shocked as he listed off his desires. But he said nothing.

"Andy, I'm dyin' here. Could you say something. Please?" Keith asked, ready to lose his cool.

Anderson was smiling. Widely, joyfully. Keith had no warning before he had an armful of Cooper.

"I want you too," Anderson said, joyfully. "God, you have no idea how much I just want to kiss the life out of you when you do things like kick newspaper dispensers."

"You know, I have far more insanity than that," Keith said, like it was an incentive. And hell, with Anderson who knew?

"Like I don't know that?" Anderson asked. "I even know about that smelly lucky jockstrap you keep in your 'lucky exam' clothes drawer!"

"That is _Micky Mantle's_ jock-strap which my father gave me. It's chock full of good--" his argument was cut off by warm, slightly chapped lips. Anderson tasted like hops and chili powder and he was enthusiastically tasting Keith back.

"Don't worry, we'll have plenty insanity to share," Anderson whispered.

"You don't like... have a secret shrine to Walter Cronkite in your closet, do you?" Keith asked, letting his hands touch parts he'd never let his hands linger on, sliding down his this torso to cup his ass, stifling as gasp as their erections met through their jeans.

"N-no," Anderson stuttered. "But I guess I shouldn't mention the scrapbook dedicated to Scissor Sister concerts?"

"Not really relevant at the moment," Keith breathed as Anderson writhed against him. Keith began kissing his neck, lingering over his adam's apple and tendons.

"I, um, I haven't really done much," Anderson admitted. Keith pulled him up to look him in the eye.

"Are you concerned about going too far, or concerned about having not gone that far?" Keith asked, brain too overloaded to know if he'd made any sense.

"Um, only that I don't how--" he cut himself off.

"Anderson, we can get off any way you want," Keith said before a thought occurred to him. "We _are_ getting off tonight right?"

Anderson laughed and kissed him again, tongue boldly stroking Keith's, fingers burying themselves in Keith's hair. "I'm a guy, Keith," Anderson said breathlessly. "If I don't get off, there are going to be tears, and not just mine."

Keith chuckled as well and pulled Anderson close again. Their kissing grew heated and Keith, though his fingers were big and clumsy, managed to get the zipper to Anderson's jeans open. The back of his knuckles bumped and shifted against Anderson's hard-on making the other man moan and shift. One hand holding his boxer-brief's elastic band away and the other working his pants down the back, Keith managed to get Anderson's pants down.

"This is not working," Anderson giggled as he tried to get them all the way off. They shifted up and each undressed, still kissing when they could

"We should maybe go to the bedroom. We'll never hear the end of it if we make a mess on the couch."

They chose Anderson's bedroom--free of clothing everywhere and the distinct odor of dirt--and only switched on the computer and stereo for minimal light. They made out lazily, letting heat build in the cooler room, a small breeze coming from the small balcony that joined his and Keith's rooms. Keith was a lot bigger than Anderson, in most ways, but the smaller man gave back every caress and never let himself be dominated. They laid on their sides, lower bodies tangled until Anderson seemed to grow more frantic.

"Keith, can't-need," he gasped, pulling away. Even in the white-bluish light, Anderson looked flushed and lips puffy. Keith could detect no blue, only deep black as he looked into his eyes.

"All right, all right," Keith said, running a calming hand up and down his back. He kissed him again, keeping it light and gentle, before letting his hand creep over and take a hold of Anderson's erection. The other man gasped and bucked into Keith's warm grip. Keith pressed him to his back and lowered himself, taking Anderson in his mouth.

"Oh _God_," Anderson gasped, hands fluttering around Keith's shoulders as if he couldn't decide whether to hold on or pull away. Keith sucked lightly, tonguing the underside and pressing Anderson close, hands cupped around his ass. "I-I can't, _Keith_." Keith swallowed as his friend came hard, back curling upwards.

Though his own erection was killing him, so close to coming Anderson could probably just _look_ at him and he'd go off. But he needed to make sure Anderson was okay.

Anderson looked more than okay, he looked wrecked, stomach heaving and still shaking with aftershocks. He was reaching for Keith, wrapped his hands around Keith's biceps as he tried to recover.

"Wow," he said, chuckling. "But I guess you're not so interested in my reaction, huh?"

"At this very moment? Not so much," Keith said. Anderson smiled and kissed him, letting his hand, slick with sweat, wrap around Keith's dick. "_Fuck yes_."

"Come on, Keith," Anderson whispered and Keith felt his cheeks and hands start to tingle as his orgasm started. The top of his head grew heated and his leg clenched over the top of Anderson's as he came, Anderson laying kisses on his gaping mouth.

They lay together, listening to music, hands smoothing over cooling flesh.

"This song is about heartbreak," Keith finally said.

Anderson laughed loudly, breaking the atmosphere. "I didn't pick out the song specifically," Anderson told him, switching the song from "Hanging on to Long" to "Mercy". "Better? You can imagine me on my knees instead of crying my eyes out. You can put away your paranoia and superstition."

"I am _not_ paranoid," Keith defended.

"I see you don't dispute superstition," Anderson said, grinning.

"Nope, freely admit to it. As for this 'on your knees' idea...?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"OH MY GOD!" Came a cry from the bedroom door, prompting some hurried covering with the blanket. "It woudl figure you two would decide to fuck the ONE week I decide to go out of town!"

"Hello, Rachel," Keith said, resignedly.

"Hi, Rach," Anderson said with a grin.

"Don't fucking 'hi' me, what do you do NOT calling me? What did I say? To both of you, what did I say?"

"You said we were smitten with each other," Keith said, sending a small grin Anderson's way.

"That's what I said. You two owe me so many drinks. So many drink. With _umbrellas_ and top shelf stuff, I'm talking..." she trailed off as she left the room.

Keith smiled at Anderson and head-gestured towards the door. Anderson nodded and they dressed and went to join Rachel in the kitchen. She was still talking as they joined her.

"Shit, this is so going into the book. Chapter title: 'Rollerskating Will Change Your Life,'" she said as she opened more beer.

"Well, technically it was Jon," Keith admitted.

"Actually, it was an LGBT meeting," Anderson said quietly with a smile. Keith grinned back and kissed him prompting squealing from Rachel.

"I should be writing this down. Guys, we are so awesome, I'm so writing this book..."


End file.
